


take these broken wings and learn to fly

by ladypeaceful



Series: each time the universe splits, i'll find you in the stars again [11]
Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 13:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladypeaceful/pseuds/ladypeaceful
Summary: all your lifeyou were only waiting for this moment to arise-blackbird, the beatlesas one would hope, robbehadbeen planning to say, “at mine.”
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Series: each time the universe splits, i'll find you in the stars again [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1431961
Comments: 8
Kudos: 189





	take these broken wings and learn to fly

**Author's Note:**

> written to cope with vrijdag 22:53. don’t read if you aren’t comfortable with mentions of homophobic violence. do read if you are in need of a little hope that everything will turn out okay in the end. i love you all and if you need someone to talk to, my inbox on tumblr @navollidiot is open. <3

as one would hope, robbe _had _been planning to say, “at mine.”

he had wanted to just curl up in bed with sander that night and focus on nothing and nobody else other than this boy who’d swept him right off his feet and into his arms.

but as he drags himself across the ground towards the shaking body of his boyfriend, whose knees are tucked against his chest like protective shields, robbe knows now, in the most painful way possible, exactly what milan meant. the stakes are high for a love like theirs. they always have been.

as easy and right and _meant to be_ as it has felt with sander these past few days, it simply just isn’t easy for robbe to be himself.

but robbe knows that they aren’t _wrong_, that _he isn’t_ _wrong_, to be the way that he is. and he sure as hell knows that he and sander _are _meant to be.

see, it’s a matter of courage. it’s a matter of picking yourself back up, of taking the next step, of doing all of it for those who no longer can. or who never were able to. now, he gets it. now he does.

_“i’m not like you,” _he had said.

_“and how am i then?”_ milan had asked.

_“just so… out there.”_

those had been the first words robbe had used to describe milan, the first words that had come to mind, spoken from a place of internalized hatred and ignorance. but he now knows what it really means to be _out there._ it’s to continue existing in this world, as he is, fully and without shame, in defiance of everything that says he’s wrong and broken and misguided, in defiance of the fear that’s taken hold of him his entire life.

to finally break free of its clutches.

so he cradles sander’s head in his lap and whispers into his hair _it’s okay it’s okay you’re okay i’m okay we’re okay we’re going to be okay_ over and over like a mantra, against the ugly bruises and cuts on sander’s beautiful face, wiping away the blood on his sleeve and letting tears flow freely down his cheeks. tears of pain, of anger, of something primal and fierce. but mixed with those are tears of relief, because they’re _alive_ despite everything, _alive_ in a literal matter of life and death.

sander clings to robbe, his eyes glistening in the moonlight, and accepts every little press of robbe’s lips, every gentle caress in a silence so complete that robbe is worried for several minutes that he might never speak again.

when he does speak, it breaks robbe’s heart, because sander’s lovely deep velvety voice is now the smallest he’s ever heard it.

“i want to go home.”

robbe doesn’t know if he means to their separate houses, and is about to ask, when sander says in a barely audible mumble, “but my parents can’t see me like this.”

“i’ll take you home with me,” robbe says without hesitation and his phone is out and dialing milan within the next five seconds. there’s a fresh crack across his screen now, and robbe loses himself in staring at its iridescent outline for several seconds before he realizes that milan has picked up.

“hello? robbe, are you there? hello?”

“milan,” robbe manages to get out before he’s suddenly unable to speak, throat clogged with tears again.

“duckling, are you okay? where are you?” milan’s voice crackles a little bit over the speaker as the worry in his tone becomes apparent.

“milan,” robbe tries again. every ache in his body seems to vibrate down to his bones as he forces out the words. “can you—i’m, i’m with sander right now—and we—we were—” he’s unable to choke out the end of his sentence and a sob comes out instead. but it seems that he’s said enough for milan to get the picture.

“tell me where you are, robbe. i’ll come get you. i’m coming, ducklings.”

robbe tells him the address of the bar and he can already hear shuffling noises on milan’s end of the call, a door opening and closing. all the while he’s saying things like _hang on_ and _don’t worry_ and _don’t be scared_, but robbe is so_, so_ scared. he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go on like this. doesn’t know if he has it in him to overcome this.

but then he looks back down at sander, still lying glassy-eyed and unresponsive in his lap, and decides in that moment that nothing is more important to him right now than making sure his boy is safe. he won’t let anything come between them. he knows that now.

robbe doesn’t count the minutes until a taxi pulls up and milan stumbles out of it, calling to the driver over his shoulder, “keep it running!” as he runs over to the pair of boys on the ground, and it occurs to robbe that he must look awful, if the swelling he feels around one eye is any indication.

milan looks as shattered as robbe feels, but he wastes no time in bending down and wrapping his arms so tightly around robbe he can’t breathe. even so, he’s never been more glad to see his flatmate.

“god, i could _kill _them,” milan says, unbridled vengeance evident in his voice. like something that had been simmering below the surface for a long, long time. “i really could kill them. christ, i mean, you’re just _kids_.”

“milan,” robbe says, a little desperately.

“right.” milan appears to shake himself out of his fury. “let’s get you home. can you stand?”

robbe nods. “but i don’t know about—”

with unexpected ease, milan hoists sander up in his arms and carries him to the taxi where he settles him into the backseat as gently as possible. robbe hurries to clamber in next to him, and sander wordlessly relinquishes the weight of his whole body against robbe, almost sinking right into him. a deadweight angel, spirit broken, wings stained with blood.

he doesn’t stop stroking sander’s hair the whole way home.

“i’ve told zoë and senne to mind their business. they won’t bother you,” milan tells robbe when they’re out of the car and heading up to the flat, robbe supporting sander on wobbly but functional legs.

milan helps them clean and disinfect their cuts and scrapes in the bathroom, only leaving them alone when sander whispers in robbe’s ear that he wants to take a bath.

it’s only when sander settles into the steaming hot water that his eyes look a little clearer than they did before. he seems, for the first time in hours, to actually focus on robbe, who’s sitting on the edge of the tub, still fully clothed.

“seems… kind of unfair,” sander says, slow and uncertain, but robbe can hear the shadow of a joke somewhere in there.

“what is?”

“that i’m in here… and you’re not.”

“do you want me to get in with you?”

sander nods.

robbe ends up with an armful of sander, and he tucks that head of bleached blond hair beneath his chin as sander draws hundreds of little circles on robbe’s thigh under the water.

and it is like this that they begin the process of healing. not just that of the wounds on their bodies knitting themselves back together, but also finding strength within their vulnerability. seeking out pockets of softness and tenderness in a world hardened by the cruel and unforgivable.

when robbe feels sander press a kiss into his wet hair, tears well up at the corner of his eyes. the pain and the anger return momentarily, but with them they bring a little bit of hope.

after they’re warm and dry again, they huddle under the covers in robbe’s bed. milan knocks on the door to check on them a couple of times to bring them hot drinks and snacks. mostly though, they lie there with their limbs tangled together, sander curled into robbe’s chest, his breathing gradually slowing to the deep rumble of much-needed sleep.

“we’re okay,” robbe whispers, lacing his hands into sander’s, moments before he drifts off himself. “we’re going to be okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted here](https://navollidiot.tumblr.com/post/189091757794/take-these-broken-wings-and-learn-to-fly-robbe-x)


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